She looks directly at Jess. “Your sister has shared with me information about five postcards your mother sent to you in the months after she disappeared.” She pauses briefly, then adds, “We believe with a man named Lynton Baltimore.”
Jess’s hands aren’t clasped on the table; they’re hidden in her lap. But I get the sense she’s clutching them together all the same.
“I don’t know where she is,” Jess says, more to her sister than to Salem. “I don’t.”
“But you did, once. And you never told me,” Tegan says. “Five different times you knew.”
Salem watches them carefully, and it’s strange, the pang of judgment I feel. I’m watching carefully, too, after all. I’m her shadow; I’m supposed to be learning this, and it’s a privilege to be learning it from Salem Durant. Being a journalist as skilled as she is—this is what I’ve set out to do.
This is what Ineedto do.
“I won’t talk about that now. Not in front of them,” Jess says to her sister, before looking back at Salem. “We don’t want to talk to the media.”
“Iwant to talk to them,” Tegan says, angry again. “I’vebeentalking to them. I told them about Mom, and about Miles Daniels. Or Lynton Baltimore, I guess, whatever. I alreadytoldthem.”
Jess’s eyes close briefly, and my chest aches again, so much that I have to look away. But Salem catches my eye, and man—those instincts. If they took a hiatus during her time talking to Tegan Caulfield, they’re fully checked back in now, because I can tell she’s seen me watching Jess. I can tell she somehow knows about that aching.
This job is about the truth, Hawk, she said to me a few months ago, when I’d first told her about my idea, the one that got me pursuing this career in the first place.I’m not saying it’s not about other things, too. But the truth has to be first, even when it’s about your best friend. You need to figure out if you’ll be able to tell it.
I straighten, the memory of those words a talisman, a discipline. I cross to the table, pull out the last chair. I move it far away from the table, sparing everyone my knees. It creaks when I sit, but I don’t cringe.
I’ll be able to tell it.
This Lynton Baltimore story is just practice. A test.
Salem sits back in her chair, as though she’s welcoming me into the fold.
“We don’t want to intrude on a private family discussion,” she says gently, and I know that’s a tactic, too. She’s not going toletJess Greene stonewall her, not today, because she’s not going to ask anything of her.
Not yet.
“It’s clear that this is a shock, so let me sum up. Then Hawk and I will leave you to your discussion.”
“But—” Tegan protests, a note of fear in her voice, because she can’t tell this is a strategy. She’s worried Salem’s giving up on her.
“About ten years ago,” Salem says, as though Tegan hasn’t spoken. Right now, she’s only talking to Jess. “I released a serialized podcast about a confidence man named Lynton Baltimore. You’re aware of it?”
Jess swallows. A single, nearly imperceptible nod. I ignore the ache.
“So, you know that the final episode of the show was meant to be an in-person interview between me and this man, following his release from prison.”
Jess doesn’t bother nodding this time.
“And you’re also aware that he never showed up for this interview.”
“Because he came here,” Tegan says, and I watch Jess’s throat bob again. “He came here and met Mom.”
“And then, sometime after that,” Salem adds, keeping her attention fully on Jess, “He seems to have simply disappeared.”
“WithMom,” Tegan says, obviously bruised about not having Salem’s full attention.
“We don’t know that,” says Jess.
“The postcards your sister found suggest—” Salem says.
“They don’t. They don’t say anything about Lynton Baltimore.”
“Well,” Salem says. “They wouldn’t, would they?”
